


Love and Duty

by MegsWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of trauma and injury, F/M, Present Day Westeros, Sansa/Tyrion and Arya/Gendry are minor ships, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegsWrites/pseuds/MegsWrites
Summary: They say that love is the death of duty.Brienne Tarth has spent the last decade making herself the most well respected bodyguard in Barristan Selmy’s company, maybe even all of Westeros. She should be thrilled at this new assignment, guarding a member of the Lannister family is both lucrative and career making, but all she can feel is apprehension.Everyone knows the stories, the name Jaime Lannister is half myth already: The wild son, the reluctant heir, the golden lion poised to inherit the world. Brienne knows the kind of man he is, but she’s promised to keep him safe and there is no greater oath than that of duty.





	1. Prologue: Brienne I

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Here we are. I’ve been trying and trying to write some universe compliant stuff but I’m just still so mad. Haha! So instead I dived head first into this modern bodyguard AU because I am shipper trash and it’s what I needed. 
> 
> Maybe it’s what you need too.
> 
> I’m aiming for around 15 chapters, hopefully updating twice a week.

Every breath is agony. 

Brienne bites down on the inside of her lip so hard she tastes blood in an effort not to cry out as each step sends white hot pain right side. Her left side is pressed against Jaime Lannister, her arm slung over his shoulders. She can feel the strain of keeping them both upright while navigating the steep concrete steps shuddering through the taught muscles of his back. His breath is beginning to come in ragged gulps. Is he hurt? She hadn’t seen any sign of injury, but she hadn’t exactly been cognizant the entire time. She wants to ask him but she can’t seem to make her lips form the words. Dark spots are beginning to fill her field of view. She pushes against them, trying to force her thoughts into some sort of clarity. Follow the training. Breath, count to three, take stock. Certainly a concussion, two, maybe three broken ribs, she’s still blinking blood out of her eyes from the cut on her forehead. Inconvenient sure, but not debilitating, if only she could get her damn legs to work properly. 

They reach the bottom of the stairs at last, stumbling a little on the suddenly even ground. Pain jars through her, flashing red across her vision and she must make some sort of sound because Jaime huffs out a “sorry” and she wants to laugh. A Lannister apologizing to her? End times indeed. He lets go of her arm with his good hand and reaches for the exit door, She clings to him, legs shaking with the effort, her fingers digging into the sweat damped fabric of his once pristine white business shirt and tries not to think about how little time they might have left. How far has the fire spread, if it reaches the research lab before they can clear the building, if the Wildfire canisters warp in the heat, if the seals break…fear pounds against her aching ribs, her breath coming in shallow gasps. 

He’s having trouble with the door, something about the catch is refusing to give. Fear ignites into panic. They can’t go back the way they’ve come, smoke is already following them down from above. She doesn’t want him to die trapped in this escape stairwell. She doesn’t want him to die at all. She doesn’t want to die either if it comes to it, but he’s the job, he’s always been the job no matter how complicated her feelings on the subject have become. His life is her responcibility. She can’t fail him now. Not after everything. He’d be faster on his own. 

“Jaime.” She says, her voice is raw and cracked at the edges. “You can’t—“ He cuts her off, swinging their bodies sideways, angling himself between her and the exit. 

“Don’t.” He says sharply, “We’re getting you out.” Then slightly softer, “Hold on, this will hurt.” He throws their combined weight against the door and it gives with a groan, or maybe the sound is her, she can’t be sure because everything narrows down to pinpoint of light and she clings to it with all her might. When she comes back to herself they are outside, standing in the grass behind the massive Casterly Corp headquarters. An open field stretches before them until it runs up against the towering fence that rings the property. Its absurdly peaceful, she thinks maybe she’d like to just go lie down in the cool grass and rest. There is a distant explosion and when she clumsily tilts her head back she can see the upper windows have shattered, fire licking out across the brickwork. In her ear Jaime is keeping up a steady litany of words. .

“Come on Tarth.” He growls, his grip on her wrist like a steel vice as he keeps them moving. “Don’t give up on me now.” With effort she manages to get her legs moving in a more purposeful direction, trying to take some of her own weight back. 

“There you are.” He says and she wants to weep because maybe, just maybe they’re going to make it. 

They round the edge of the building and its like stepping into another world. A police barricade stretches across the pavement 100 yards in front of them and beyond is a seething sea of flashing lights and cameras and people. For a moment relief blooms through her. Help is just there, so close, but no one moves forward, no one comes rushing to their aid. Of course, she realizes, its too dangerous. The building could go at any moment. They’re still on their own.

She can see a commotion at the front edge of the crowd. Podrick is there, shouting at one uniformed officer while another has a hold of both of his arms. He’s trying to cross the line to get to them, she can see his frustration beginning to build into real anger. He’s going to get himself arrested, she thinks dimly, Barristan’s going to be furious. She is so very tired. Jaime keeps propelling them forward, one painful step after another, and somehow, unbelievably, they make it to the barrier. Hands are on her in an instant, pulling her across the line and out of Jaime’s arms. She struggles on instinct despite the reassuring sound of Pod’s voice in her ear. She reaches back blindly, the fingers of her hand finding purchase in the front of Jaime’s shirt. She tries to pull him after her, but he stays rooted to the spot just on the other side of the line. She twists out of Pod’s grip.

“What are you doing?” she asks, but the words end in a half sob because she knows what he’s doing. She knows.

“I can’t leave her there.” Jaime says and her entire world is reduced to the anguish in his eyes. She shakes her head, her hand coming up to grip the collar of his shirt, her fingers cold against his neck. She can feel the pulse thrumming just under his skin. 

“Its too late.” She says desperately, “You can’t save her. You’ll die.” He gently but firmly reaches up and removes her hand, his fingers cling to hers in something like desperation. 

“She’s my sister.” He says, as if that is the only answer left in the world, and then he is gone, sprinting back across the parking lot. She screams, lurching forward at the same time trying to follow but her body is no longer under her control. She hits the ground on her hands and knees and agony rips through her. She blinks and he is gone, vanished into the looming structure, the lion in rampart slowly beginning to blacken with soot. Pod is still there, trying to get her up, trying to get her away.

“Don’t look.” He says, “Don’t look.” But she can’t do anything else. There is blood mixing with tears on her face, the acrid sting of smoke fills her mouth, and she cannot look away. She draws in three broken breaths each one more desperate than the last. 

Come back to me.  
Come back.  
Come—

The building explodes, shattering the night sky with a thousand shards of light. Pod throws his body over hers as bits of debris and cinder’s rain down on them. Her throat is raw and burning, Jaime’s name like fire on her lips, and when the wave of darkness surges up to take her she gives in willingly.

Gone. Her sluggish heart beats. Gone gone gone gone gone.


	2. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets a new assignment and things aren't quite what they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooof. I wanted to have this up days ago but here we are. Still a little prologue here but I promise we're getting to the good stuff soon!

_Ten Months Earlier_

“This is joke right?” She says, coming to stand just inside the office doorway. She means the words to come out a lot lighter than they do, but if Barristan hears the edge in her voice it doesn't bother him enough to make him look up from his paperwork.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” He says mildly, flipping a page over and beginning to fill in the back. “You know as well as I do that with some of your coworkers your guess is as good as mine.” 

Brienne shoots a look back over her shoulder to where Bronn is lounging at his desk, feet kicked up on the top like he’s some kind of 1940’s bullshit detective. He’s constantly trying to get a rise out of her, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s played a ‘joke’, but if he’s behind the file in her hands he’s certainly giving no indication. And honestly, she thinks sourly, fabricating a fake file is probably giving his creativity too much credit. He must feel the weight of her gaze because he looks up and when he sees she’s watching him he winks suggestively. Rolling her eyes Brienne turns her attention back to where her boss has moved on to a fresh stack of papers.

“This job.” She says waving the folder around for emphasis. “You can’t actually expect me to believe you’ve contracted me out to work for the bloody Lannisters.” The thought is so absurd she almost laughs, but the seed of unease settling into her gut refuses to budge. Barristan finally looks up at that and she can see tension at the corners of his eyes. The seed puts out roots.

“Come in.” He says. “Close the door.” She does so, but remains standing, somehow she feels like this isn’t going to be a comfortable conversation. For a long moment he just looks at her then sighs.

“I trust you’ve been paying attention to the news this week?”

Of course she has, all of Westeros has. Eight days ago Jaime Lannister, scion of the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms crashed his fancy sports car and very nearly killed himself in the process. The official police reports must be sealed because no one seemed to know exactly what had happened, but the general assumption is that he’d been drunk at the time. Brienne had watched the coverage for the first few days before she couldn’t stomach anymore of it. It was part morbid curiosity she supposed, but she’d known Jaime as a child a lifetime ago and she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the image of his mangled car. Her father’s position as governor of Tarth had been enough to place her in the fringes of the Lannister orbit. She had vague memories of a bright eyed boy bursting at the seams with energy, at ease even then with the attention that used to make Brienne want to curl up and die. She’d liked him well enough then, when he hadn’t been in the company of his twin who always looked at the children of the lesser houses like they were something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe, but that had been before, well a lot of things. It’s been two decades since she’s seen him outside of the tabloid pages or a television screen, and yet she has to admit she felt a kind of odd relief when Tywin Lannister stood on the steps of Citadel General and told the camera he was happy to report his son would live. She remembers thinking he didn’t look particularly happy.

“Yes.” Is all she says now and Barristan finally pushes aside his stacks of folders and gestures to one of the chars in front of his desk. 

“Will you please sit down?” He says and she knows it’s not really a question. She folds herself into the small chair across the desk from him and wonders not for the first time why he refuses to get better office furniture.

“I don’t have to tell you,” he begins in a tone that is not quite conversational, “that a contract with the Lannisters is serious business. It could be the making of this enterprise.”

“Or its undoing.” She adds and when he doesn't contradict her she sighs and leans back in the uncomfortable chair. “If it’s so risky why take the chance?” She asks, although she feels like she already knows the answer. 

“We’re barely making ends meet,” Barristan says grimly, “the name just doesn't carry the weight it once did. With so many other private contractors we just don’t have the resources anymore to keep pace.” 

She hates how tired he looks. Barristan Selmy has devoted his life to his country, he gave his best years to the Westerosi military, rising through the ranks in record time. He should be retired on a yacht somewhere of the coast of Dorn but when Aegon Targaryen had been overthrown in a brutal election by Robert Baratheon over a decade ago, many of those who had served the  
Targaryens were quietly retired without much pomp and circumstance and without many of the benefits they should have been owed. He’d founded Kingsguard Protection with the last of his retirement savings, she’d teased him about the name when he reached out to her about signing on but he’d been firm. The Kingsguard of old had been the most deadly fighting force in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, legend had it that the name went as far back as the first kings centuries ago. In modern memory the name had carried the honor of being the Westeros’ most elite military branch and Barristan had served with them for years. The company and its weighty name had also been a casualty of Robert Baratheon’s reforms. 

“There has to be a better way to make money.” She says and he gives her a wry smile. 

“Its not just the money. Having the good word of the Lannister’s would open doors across the kingdoms, maybe even Pentos or Myr. I know you hate them--” She opens her mouth to protest but he pushes on. “--but we’re running out of options. I’ve made the call, we’re taking the job.” 

They are quiet for a long moment, both turning thoughts over in their own heads. 

“I don’t hate the Lannister’s you know.” She says after a moment. “I just think that for people with so much power they don’t seem very interested in using it for anything but their own gain. The kingdoms are a mess and those of us with the power to change things for the better have a duty to try. So, yeah, I think they’re selfish. But I don’t hate them.” 

Barristan’s smile is fondly exasperated. 

“Well perhaps you’ll be able to show them the error of their ways, you’re about to be spending a considerable amount of time in their company.” 

“Alright then.” She says, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, “Talk me through it.” 

It begins as expected. They talk logistics, support teams, scheduling, but the further they get into the details the more complex it becomes. The Lannnister’s have requested round the clock surveillance and housing has been set up for all operatives on site, the blueprints of their estate are a warren of security measures and checkpoints, they’ve also asked for extensive background checks and site scouting for all locations not directly controlled by their family. Its...excessive. 

“Surely some of this could be handled by their own staff?” She finally says, flipping through pictures of the sprawling grounds. “Do we have enough hands to cover all this?” 

“Tywin is contracting most of the grunt work out to another security firm, The Second Sons.” Brienne nods, she’s heard of the Sons before, they do good work but she’s never known them to be terribly interested in investing much time or effort into contracts on this side of the sea. She sets the pictures down and starts writing down notes about guard rotations. 

“We’ll be primarily responsible for close personal operations and overall management. You, Bronn and Gregor will each take lead on one of the Lannister heirs, Podrick will oversee TechOps, and I’ll be overall point.”

“I assume I’ll be on Cersei?” She asks absently, still writing in her notebook.

“No actually.” Barriston says, “I’m putting you with Jaime.” She almost drops her pencil. 

“What? Why?” She says, then flushes. What does it matter who she’s assigned to? Its the same job either way. 

“Because you’re my best agent,” He says reaching for a folder she hadn’t noticed before, tucked in the back of the thicker file. He pulls it free and sets it in front of her where the Kings Landing PD emblem is in full view on the cover. The red seal on the side has been broken. That little seed of dread she’d almost forgotten about sprouts tender shoots.

“And there is reason to believe Jaime Lannister’s car crash was no accident.”


	3. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime gets the truth of the matter, and none of it makes any sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like 2 chapters a week was a little optimistic. O.o So one a weekish it is. Please forgive any typos or tense shenanigans I’ve missed, I wrote most of this chapter on my phone because that’s the kind of week it’s been. 
> 
> I think we’re finally through the setup so now we can get to the real reason we’re all here, idiots who hate/love each other. I can’t wait for next chapter when we get these two crazy kids in the same room. What could possibly go wrong!?

The worst part, Jaime decides, is the waking. He isn't a man prone to fantasies or delusions, he's found no comfort in dreaming of himself as whole either while waking or sleeping. But these last few mornings, in that moment between waking and wakefulness, he's been so certain his hand isn't gone that he's tried to reach with it, to clasp a cup of water or rub sleep out of his eyes. Each time the truth falls down like a blade, severing him from who he was, who he'd been, its agony and he's not sure how much more he can take. That brief moment of forgetting is worse than all the nightmares of fire and blood and crumpled steel put together. It’s almost as bad as the aching of fingers that no longer exist.

They're sending him home today. He's been given a clean bill of health if you don't count the fact that his right arm ends at his wrist. They told him the rest was too damaged to save, the bones crushed beyond repair. He's lucky, they said, a miracle he didn’t lose more really. The Seven must be looking out for him. He wants to laugh. He wants to scream. 

His father is furious, not that he'd ever let that show, not in view of the hospital staff who are never very far away, but Jaime can see it in the tight lines around his father's mouth, the way he carefully avoids asking Jaime directly how he is all while being the image of a concerned parent. The worst part is Jaime isn't even sure what his father is so angry about, and though he should be used to the cold shoulder after twenty years of being the token disappointment, it still stings. There's a deeper hurt in the form of his utterly absent sister but that's something to be examined later, he hasn't got the strength just now, in fact the best he can manage is just to sit on the edge of the hospital bed in the suit the nurse had to help him into, and wait for his deliverance.

It comes in the form his little brother just after noon. Tyrion's been here every day, had stayed by his bedside during the worst of it in the beginning, and Jaime isn't sure how he would have survived without him. He'd tried to tell Tyrion as much a few nights ago but he'd still been pumped full of painkillers and sedatives and the words had come out all garbled and wrong. Theirs has never been a family of expressed emotions and honest conversations, but Jaime thinks maybe his brother understands anyway. He hopes so. 

"Ready to blow this joint?" Tyrion says, as if they're about to play hooky from school not check out of the hospital, and it's so normal Jaime can't help but lean in to it.

"Hell yes." He says, and is surprised to find a genuine grin on his lips. "You wouldn't believe how terrible the food is here." 

"I would believe." His brother says, scooping Jaime's duffle up and hoisting it over his shoulder. "I tried some of your supposed dinner the other night when you were napping. I thought I was going to have to admit myself for poisoning." 

"I can carry my own bag you know." Jaime says, hoisting himself up off the bed and only swaying slightly. His balance feels all wrong, though whether that's because his right arm is strapped down to his body by the bulky black sling or because he still has a shit tonne of drugs coursing through his system he's not entirely sure. Tyrion just looks at him with one raised eyebrow. 

"I'm sure you can." He says dryly, "You don't at all look like a strong breeze will tip you over." Jaime makes a face which Tyrion ignores and then the two of them are making their way out into the hall. There's a nurse waiting for them with a clipboard and just behind her a tall man with dark hair Jaime doesn't recognize standing behind a wheelchair he realizes with a sinking feeling is supposed to be for him. 

"I'm not riding in that thing." He says but no one seems to hear him because the next thing he knows he's being sat down. He doesn't have time to argue about it though because then a nurse, pretty and slightly flushed, is handing him the clipboard and asking for his signature. It’s a strange thing to be both patient and celebrity. Most of the staff have been the picture of professionalism but a few, the nurse in front of him blushing up a storm, the orderly who’d slipped up and called him Kingslayer to his face, couldn’t see beyond his name. Its uncomfortable and reason number 837 Jaime can’t wait to be well rid of this place. 

He glances down at the discharge papers and there's an awkward pause because he suddenly realizes he has sign with his left hand and he has no idea how to even begin, but then Tyrion is plucking the papers out of his lap and signing them himself before handing them back to the nurse and they're wheeling away down the hall. Jaime doesn't know whether to be embarrassed or greatful. Mostly he just feels tired. They're in the elevator before he realized the man with the dark hair is the one who's been pushing him. 

"Who's this then?" He asks, trying to twist in his seat to get a better look at the man behind him. 

"Bronn Blackwater." The man says. He has a long face with sharp features and thick dark hair slicked back from his forehead. "Pleased to meet you." When he doesn't elaborate Jaime turns a questioning face to his brother. 

"Ah." Tyrion says, "Mr. Blackwater is my new security. I've known him for approximately three hours but so far he seems quite competent." 

"Thank you sir." Bronn says, and there's a hint of mocking in his tone but Tyrion justs quirks a lip, unbothered. 

"Security?" Jaime says, suddenly alarmed. For the past two years Tyrion's been making waves in Westeros' political circles, climbing steadily upward in rather meatoric fashion. At first Jaime assumed it was yet another tool in Tyrion's endless quest to make their father as irritated as possible, but the longer it went on the more he thought his brother might actually have found something he enjoyed doing. The fact that Tywin Lannister hated it might just be a perk. He's been pushing hard the last few months. Three seats on the small council will be up for re-election at the end of the year and Tyrion Lannister has plans. It's a risky venture, the Lannister name carries a lot of baggage in political circles these days, but his brother has never been one to shy away from a challenge. It does make Jaime worry though, the past fifteen years haven’t been long enough to dull the memory of how brutal the race between Aerys and Robert had been. The entire country had been inches away from tearing itself to shreds and there are still many who believe the only reason Robert Baratheon won was because of Lannister money. And Lannister treachery.. 

"Why do you need extra security?" Jaime asks, his unease sharp in his mouth, "Did something happen?" For a long moment Tyrion just stares at him with some sort of dawning comprehension, then his expression hardens into something like anger. 

"He hasn't told you yet. Of course he hasn't." 

"Told me what?" Jaime demands, he doesn't have to ask who 'he' is. The only other person Jaime’s seen in the last week has been Tywin, and they haven’t exactly been speaking. When his brother doesn't answer unease gives way to dread. "Told me WHAT Tyrion?" But his brother just shakes his head.

"Not here. We'll talk in the car." 

Its the longest elevator ride of his life. When they reach the lobby he's dismayed to find a police escort waiting for them. Outside the hospital's main doors he can see a small motorcade and beyond a crowd of onlookers. 

"Tyrion what is happening?" He asks, and he feels too sick to be angry at the way his voice shakes. His brother just smiles grimly at him. before reaching over and giving his good arm a squeeze, then before Jaime can say anything else he's being whisked through the lobby which is oddly empty and out into the afternoon sun. He is dimly aware of shouts of "Mr. Lannister do you have a comment?" and "Jaime is it true?" then Bronn is helping him into the back of a sleek black car with red leather interior and the Casterly Corp logo discreetly stamped into the corners of the upholstery. Tyrion slides in next to him and they pull away, Bronn settling into the front beside the driver. Jaime waits until the glass partition between the front and back of the car has eased into place before he turns to face his brother. His head is pounding in time with his heartbeat. He feels like one big bruise, body and soul. He can see on his brother’s face that he’s building up to some sort of declaration but its taking too long and Jaime’s too tired to play the game right.

“Spit it out already, for fuck’s sake.” He snaps and then grimaces, “I’m sorry.” He says, softer this time, “I’m just a little freaked out here.” 

“I know.” His brother says, his own face twisted with something like an apology. “I just didn’t think I’d have to be the one to explain all this. I’m not sure where to start.”

Suddenly Jaime doesn't want to know, whatever it is, maybe if neither of them say it out loud he can just go home, have a drink and pretend everything is fine. There is a long pause then Tyrion says the last thing he expects.

“What do you remember about the accident?” It’s a surprising question and Jaime has to take a moment to settle his racing thoughts. In truth he doesn't remember much, he'd been heading home after a long frustrating argument with his father about his lack of leadership in board meetings, he'd been angry and more upset than he liked to admit, he'd been speeding some but then...what? He can't put the pieces together. Light, heat, pain. The taste of blood in his mouth. Fear. Then nothing at all. 

“Not much,” he admits, “just flashes. I was almost home, just before the bridge over the Rush.” He closes his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory even as it slides out of his grasp. “I...I think a deer ran out in front of me, it's vague, I hit the breaks, I remember that, and then there was this...sound, like a cork popping, then a light. I must have blacked out for a while the next thing I knew...I was upside down and everything was smoke and broken glass. All I could think was the radio was still playing and I couldn’t remember how to turn it off…” He blinks tiredly up at the ceiling for a moment then looks over at his brother’s face, Tyrion’s mouth is a flat unhappy line. 

“The GPS system in your car alerted emergency services.” His brother says at last, his voice is tight with some emotion Jaime can’t quite pinpoint. “It took them 13 minutes to get to you and nearly half an hour to get you out of the wreckage.” 

“Did it?” Jaime frowns. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“No you wouldn’t, you were too busy bleeding out.” The words come out raw and jagged.

“Tyrion—“ Jaime begins, because this is the most upset he’s ever seen his brother but the other man pushes on.

“That deer saved your life Jaime, if your car had flipped on the bridge it would have gone in the water and no one could have gotten to you in time.” It’s a horrific thought and Jaime can’t quite suppress a shudder at the image of his mangled car dropping to the bottom of the river Rush with him inside.

“Well.” He says, “Thank the Mother for small mercies. I’ll have to set up some kind of preservation fund for the creatures or something, or at least get Father to rethink his annual hunting trip.” It’s a poor attempt at humor and he can’t blame Tyrion for ignoring it entirely.

“That’s not all.” His brother says and Jaime can feel his heart begin to pound because how much more can there be? “No one could figure out what flipped the car like that. You didn’t hit anything, it wasn’t raining, there was no ice. So the KLPD brought in a forensics team and they discovered your gas tank blew, the force was enough to lift the whole car off the road.” He doesn’t want to hear the rest, but Tyrion marches on. 

“Upon closer inspection they found the remains of a detonator and some sort of unidentifiable accelerant. It was intentional Jaime, someone tried to blow you off the road. We might never have known if the car had gone in the water.”

“Oh.” He says lamely, “I guess that explains the new security.” He knows he should feel something in the face of Tyrion’s news beyond bone deep weariness, but he can’t seem to make the pieces of it fit together in his head. Someone had tried to kill him? It doesn’t make any sense. He looks into Tyrion’s face for a long moment before he just says,

“Why?” 

His brother just shakes his head. 

“We’ll figure it out Jaime, I promise. Father wants us both at the estate first thing tomorrow, we’ll make a plan. Whoever they are, they’ll be sorry they tangled with the Lion. For now,” he says as the car pulls up to a familiar gate and is waved through. “Let’s get you settled, I’ll introduce the new staff and then you can rest for a bit, you look terrible.” The smile tugging at his lips undermines the insult and Jaime finds himself smiling back. 

His head is still spinning with Tyrion’s revelations as they pull up to the front door of the high rise, but as he lets Bronn help him out of the car and back into the blasted wheelchair he decides to start slow. What he needs is a shower, a drink, and a nap, not necessarily in that order. The rest he’ll deal with as it comes. It will have to be enough for now.


End file.
